


101 Stories

by anneapocalypse



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Bullying, Gen, Vault 101
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anneapocalypse/pseuds/anneapocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All my shortfics about Vault 101 will be collected here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bleak House

**Author's Note:**

> A 101 shortfic inspired by [this photoset](http://anneapocalypse.tumblr.com/post/43843630031/).

You duck your head to the desk, you keep your  _eyes on your own paper_  but the words still crawl over you like radscorpions the only thing you know Butch is afraid of and if you could catch one you’d put it in the bastard’s bed, but you don’t want to touch them either for germs and their squirming legs like your own legs twitch under your desk and you wish you could run from here.

(What’s the right answer to number 3? There are no wrong answers Mr. Brotch says and that means no right ones either.)

A job an assignment a category a name for everybody, but you all have names already, given in circles: Butch says  _Susie the Floozy_  and laughs and laughs so she writes  _Christine Kendall puts out!_  on the board, then Chrissy sneers  _Why are you talking to me?_  when you walk by head down saying nothing at all, and Daddy’s Girl and Teacher’s Pet keep their heads down too, know better than to be seen talking to you, everybody’s got a name and names someone else in turn, and even Mr. Brotch doesn’t look at his own board to see the words, doesn’t get up to erase what’s been written.

(If you choose  _D. The Overseer_  is that different than if you choose  _A. The Overseer_  and will that put you somewhere different? Is this a trick? Is everything a trick, like when they told you a girl liked you but wouldn’t tell you who?)

And in the corner of your own test you find you’ve written  _Freddie the Freak_ without even thinking and scribbled over it until it’s a tangle of black lines and you can no longer see your own name.


	2. Cheaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James' daughter isn't about to sit back and leave her G.O.A.T. results to chance. Unfortunately it seems someone else has the same idea.

The problem with steel is that everything squeaks and creaks and screeches. Footsteps. Doorways. Desk drawers. Cat holds her breath as she eases open the top drawer of Brotch’s desk. Just pencils and some scrap paper. Damn it. She pushes it in slowly, slowly, and then tries the middle drawer. Locked. Pay dirt. Slipping a bobby pin out of her pocket, she works the lock open with a soft _click_ , and a moment later she’s lifting out the answer key for tomorrow’s test. Perfect. Now to—

The classroom door sliding open nearly startles her out of her skin, but the slick-haired punk standing on the other side of it looks just as startled to see her. He lets fly with a “Shit—” before clamping his mouth shut.

They regard each other coldly.

“Butch,” says Cat in a low voice.

“Nosebleed,” says Butch.

There’s a pause.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” says Cat.

Butch snorts. “Tell what? I was just out to get some fresh air, and what do you know, I run into the teacher’s pet.  _Cheating_.” He fakes a look of horror. “Daddy is gonna be so disappointed—”

“Can it, DeLoria.” Cat waves the answer key. “I’ve got what we both came here for. We share this, we both keep our mouths shut, everyone wins. End of story. You in or you out? In means you get the results you want. Out means you’re probably gonna spend the rest of your sad life on the lower levels burning garbage and won’t Mommy be proud. So. You in?”

Butch smirks. “Yeah, all right. I’m in.”

“Good, then get over here and memorize the answers you want.”

“Whaddaya mean,  _memorize?”_

“We can’t take this from Brotch’s desk, dumbass. He’ll know. What are you gonna do, write the answers on your hand?”

“Okay, whatever,” Butch mutters, joining her at the desk.

 

The next day, Cat strolls out of the G.O.A.T. whistling, newly named Vault Jukebox Technician. Behind her she hears, “What do you mean,  _hairdresser?_ I’m a barber, got it?”

On his way out, Butch winks at her.

Cat rolls her eyes.


End file.
